


The Bet

by SapphicPetunia



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It's Basically Just the Episode With the Bet, M/M, Race is Jake, Self Care is Writing a Sprace B99 au Fic, Spot is Amy, The Author Regrets Nothing, just go with it okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 05:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphicPetunia/pseuds/SapphicPetunia
Summary: Detective Sean “Spot” Conlon’s visit to the one-three in Manhattan had not gone exactly as planned. He was meant to be helping one of the detectives with a murder that was connected to one he had worked in Brooklyn a few months prior, but as it turned out, the young detective had met his match. Detective Antony “Racetrack” Higgins was as smart, capable, and competitive as he was (albeit extremely immature) and despite their differences, they became friends. Not necessarily friends in the traditional sense, but they respected one another. Even so, after getting to know each other for a few months, both in and outside of work, they kept coming back to one argument: Who was the better detective?They decided to settle it once and for all with a bet.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Self care is writing Sprace Brooklyn Nine-Nine AU fanfiction.

Detective Sean “Spot” Conlon’s visit to the one-three in Manhattan had not gone exactly as planned. He was meant to be helping one of the detectives with a murder that was connected to one he had worked in Brooklyn a few months prior, but as it turned out, the young detective had met his match. Detective Antony “Racetrack” Higgins was as smart, capable, and competitive as he was (albeit extremely immature) and despite their differences, they became friends. Not necessarily friends in the traditional sense, but they respected one another. Even so, after getting to know each other for a few months, both in and outside of work, they kept coming back to one argument: Who was the better detective?

They decided to settle it once and for all with a bet.

“So, what are the stakes?” Spot asked. “And don’t say money, because I _know_ you’re in debt.”

“If you really knew me, you would have said _crushing_ debt,” Race snapped. “And I’ll bet whatever, because there’s no way I’m losing.”

“How about your car?” Detective Albert Dasilva suggested.

“Race! No!” Detective Romeo DeJesus gasped. “That thing is a date magnet! I mean, how many people have you made out with in that car? Six?”

“Well, I’m definitely gonna win, so sure. I’ll bet the car.”

“No!” Romeo insisted. “That car is your superpower! Thor would never wager his hammer! Neil Patrick Harris would never wager his showmanship! Losing that car would be the worst thing in the world for you!”

“Well, in that case.” Race turned to Spot. “What would be the worst thing in the world for you, Conlon?”

“Being one of those people in your car.”

“Okay, okay, okay, it’s settled,” Captain David Jacobs said before Race could respond. "If Higgins loses, Conlon gets his car. If Conlon loses, he goes for a date in said car.”

“Game on,” Race said, sticking out his hand.

“Game on.” Spot grabbed his hand and shook it, sealing their bet.

They were in for one hell of a year.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Detective?” Spot looked up to see Sergeant “Hotshot” Ferreri standing at his desk. “You have a visitor from the one-three.”

“Oh no.” Spot looked up to see Race walking towards him with a skip in his step, indicating that he had good news to deliver. Of course, the ‘good’ part was usually subjective.

“Oh, Spottie!” he sang. “I just thought I’d drop by to let you know that I’m almost back in the lead with seventy-seven arrests!”

“Do you _know_ that?” Spot asked. “Are you _sure_? How do you know I didn’t just catch a huge gang?”

“Did you?”

“No.” Nor had he made any arrests at all lately. Spot had been in the lead for a good month before struggling, which allowed Race to catch up with him. _Great time to go through a slump, Conlon._

“Well then, it looks like I’m well on my way to winning this bet.”

“What bet? What are you guys talking about?” Detective Joey Tatreau asked as she sipped her coffee.

“Seriously, Jo?” Detective Rafaela Storrs said. “ _The_ bet. They’ve been keeping score all year, it comes up all the time, _what_ are you doing all day?”

“Oh,” Joey said. “Yeah, I don’t listen to a lot stuff you guys say.”

“Almost year ago, Higgins and I made a bet to prove who’s a better detective.” Spot explained. “Whoever makes more felony arrests wins, and the deadline is in one week”

“As of right now, we’re tied,” Race added. “Thing are about to get _so much_ more intense.”

 

Race was looking for an excuse to take a break from his paperwork when, fortunately, his phone went off. Unfortunately, it was just Spot bragging. _Up by one, Higgins!_ _Anything you want to say to your car before you never see it again?_ he had texted, along with a picture of the scoreboard at Brooklyn's ninety-ninth precinct. It read _Conlon: 78, Higgins: 77_.

 

Spot’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Race, who was apparently still planning his terrible date: _Do you have any dietary restrictions that Medieval Times should know about?_ The text was accompanied by a picture of the scoreboard at the one-three. _Conlon: 78, Higgins: 79_.

 

“Yes, three-one-one?” Spot said into the phone as he saw Race stepping out of the elevator. “What’s the safest way to set a car on fire? Oh, _interesting_.” He pointed to the scoreboard. _Conlon: 80, Higgins: 79_.


	3. Chapter 3

“Conlon.”

“Higgins.”

“The bet ends today,” Race said. “Are you ready?”

“I was _born_ rea—” Spot was in the middle of his comeback when he was interrupted.

“To lose?” Race smirked. “The whole question was _Are you ready to lose?_ and you said you were born that way.”

“Twist my words all you want, I’m _winning_.” Spot said. “It shouldn’t be too hard, the score’s all tied up again.”

“But not for long!” Race announced to the precinct. “In eight hours I will win the bet, and I will take Conlon on the worst date in the history of the world!”

Before Spot could retaliate, Captain Katherine Plumber of his own precinct walked past, nodding at him slightly in acknowledgement, and continued into Captain Jacobs’s office.

Spot and Race stared at each other.

“Pen!” Race said without warning, throwing one at Spot.

“Ow!” he yelled as it hit his face.

The two detectives scrambled towards Jacobs’s office, throwing things, and trying to block the other’s path until Race made it to the door and closed it behind him.

“Come on!” Spot yelled, pounding on the glass window. He pressed his ear to it and tried to hear what they were saying.

“Captain,” Race said nonchalantly. “You look lovely today, like a… buff… Superman type… uh…”

“What do you want, Higgins?” Jacobs asked.

“Oh thank god, I had no idea where I was going with that compliment. Please don’t call HR on me.”

Spot rolled his eyes.

“I’m not giving you more cases so that you can win your bet with Conlon.”

“What?” Race pretended to be surprised. “Oh right, the bet. Totally forgot about that.”

“Although, this friendly competition has led to you and Conlon putting in more hours, and bringing up the arrest numbers for both the one-three and the nine-nine.” He glanced at Captain Plumber, who nodded.

“Both of you have done exemplary work, which Captain Jacobs and I appreciate,” she said.

“And I can see that by absolutely no indicators on your face!”

“However,” Jacobs continued. “You two are colleagues, and the fallout from this bet has the potential to put a strain on your professional relationship.”

“Only if I lose!” Race said cheerfully. “I’m a terrible sport.”

“Cases will be assigned as they usually are,” Jacobs said. “Dismissed.”

Race emerged from the office, and even after hearing what Jacobs said, Spot decided to try his luck with Plumber.

“Captain! You—”

“No,” she said.


	4. Chapter 4

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Spot said breathlessly as he ran into the ninety-ninth precinct, having arrested one final man. “I present to you Carl Laudson, who stole three thousand dollars!”

Race turned in Spot’s chair.

“Race? Why are you here?” Spot felt nervous for a second, but it didn’t last. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter! Conlon takes the lead with one minute left, suck it Higgins!”

“Oh no,” Race said, bemusedly.

“That’s right, _Oh no_!” But the nervous feeling came back to him instantly. “Oh, wait, you don’t seem worried. Why don’t you seem worried?”

“Bring in the johns!” Race yelled over his shoulder. He turned back to Spot and continued. “I ran a prostitution sting through vice, and arrested thirty guys for soliciting.”

The thirty guys in question were led out by the one-three’s Detective Dasilva and Sergeant Jack Kelly.

“Soliciting? That’s not a felony!” Spot countered.

“It is when it’s your second offense. Which is the case for ten of these gentlemen. Fun fact,” he added. “Four of them are actually named John!”

Spot had no time to acknowledge Race’s stupid joke. He was busy processing the fact that he was now obliged to go on a date with him.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Ten more for me, accept your fate.”

Spot shook his head. “Never.”

“Five… four… three… two…”

“No!”

“One!” Race yelled with glee, as he pulled out a radio that he had hidden under Spot’s desk. “Racetrack wins! Spot loses!”

He pushed play, and _Celebration_ by Kool & the Gang started blaring. Someone had fired a confetti cannon, and the stuff was now raining from the ceiling. Race flipped the whiteboard the nine-nine had been keeping track of the scores on to reveal he had written HIGGINS WINS on the back.

Spot was speechless, tired, and covered in confetti, and he just wanted this little party to be over. But he knew it wouldn’t be over until Race got a singular word out of him.

“Sean Conlon, you have made me the happiest man on Earth.” Race was now on one knee in front of him, holding a small box. “I spent one whole dollar on this ring. Will you go on the worst date ever with me? You have to say yes.”

Spot knew there was no getting out of it. “Yes,” he mumbled.

“You hear that everyone? He said yes!”

The officers around them started cheering and applauding.

“This is for you.” Race threw the box containing the ring at Spot, who rolled his eyes and left the bullpen, because he just wanted to get out of there and be _anywhere_ else.


	5. Chapter 5

Spot was startled by the car horn, and realized it was time for the inevitable.

“Spot Conlon!” Race yelled from the street. “Date time! Time to date!”

Spot opened the front door to his building and stuck his head out. “Higgins, this outfit is _ridiculous_!” The suit Race made him wear was bright blue and shiny. It didn’t get much more ridiculous than that. Except for maybe Romeo’s socks.

“Chop chop!” Race said happily. “There’s plenty of embarrassing to do, and only a few hours to do it in!”

Spot stepped out and closed the door behind him. “Happy?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” The other man eyed him up and down. “You look like every guy at every school dance I’ve ever had a crush on. Come on, give me a twirl!”

Spot did as Race said, and hated every second of it.

“Just like Jamie Gildenhorn!” Race laughed. “Why do I wish you had braces? Should we get you braces?”

Spot glared.

“No, that’s too much,” the blond decided. He walked around the the car, revealing the khaki shorts he was wearing along with a dress shirt, bow tie, and blazer.

“Nice shorts.”

“Thank you. Believe it or not, they were not very expensive!”

Spot sighed. “Do I really have to wear this all night?”

“You know the rules. The date starts now and ends at midnight. I decide what you wear, what you eat, and where we go. Oh, and there is one more very important rule.” Race suddenly became very serious. “No matter what happens… you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

“Won’t be a problem.”


	6. Chapter 6

Race and Spot’s entrance to Jacobi’s bar was not subtle in any way. Race, much to Spot’s displeasure, decided to announce their arrival with an airhorn.

“Hot date comin’ through!” he yelled as they made their way over to where their friends were sitting. “Attention everyone! Now, I know that you guys were hoping for a nice peaceful evening out, but let’s forget about that completely for a moment, and admire and comment on every terrible aspect of _this_.” He motioned to Spot, who spun around for effect. Their friends applauded politely, as if this were a normal occurrence.

Spot sighed and turned to his date. “Permission to go to the bathroom?”

“Granted. That’s one of three, use them wisely.”

Race sat down at a spare seat after Spot walked off. “Hey, sorry we can’t stay, but I have a _terrible_ night planned for Spot. First up is the mall photo studio, where we will take our official date portrait. The picture will be the two of us playing one saxophone.” He paused to steal some of Albert’s french fries before continuing. “Then, some peel-and-eat shrimp for dinner at a _dangerously_ cheap seafood restaurant, and then I’ve contracted a youth choir to serenade us. They’ll sing to him at midnight in the middle of Times Square. He – as well as five hundred tourists – will savour that memory for all time.”

His friends started snickering, but Race got the impression that they didn’t find it funny for the same reason he did.

“What?” He asked.

“Race, do you know why little boys pull little girls’ pigtails on playgrounds?” Albert asked, smacking Race’s hand away as he tried to steal more fries.

“Because they’re so easy to grab?”

“No,” Albert sighed. “It’s because they like the girls, and that’s the only way they know of to get their attention.”

“What are you saying?”

“What he’s saying,” Romeo said. “Is that all of this teasing, this elaborate date, means that somewhere, deep down, you like Spot. Like, _like him_ like him.”

“First of all, _like him_ like him? We’re not middle schoolers,” Race said. “Second, that’s just straight-up insanity.”

Romeo leaned forward. “Race, how much did you spend on tonight?”

“Not that much.”

“ _Racetrack_.”

“Okay, like, fourteen hundred dollars, but all of it’s on credit cards, so it’s just, like, five dollars a month for the next two thousand years.” His friends stared. “I do not like Spot!”

“All they’re saying is that you’re putting a lot of effort into a joke,” Specs chimed in. “Why don’t you just sit down and have a real conversation with him?”

“Alright, Specs, you live in your ex girlfriend's new boyfriend’s basement. I’m not taking relationship advice from you.” Race noticed Spot approaching their table and stood up. “Excuse me, everyone!”

“I’m ashamed of my living situation!” Specs yelled after Race as he lead Spot to the to the middle of the bar.

“Everyone gather ’round, because Spot Conlon and I will now be performing the steerage jig from the film _Titanic_ , which we have prepared for in no way, shape, or form!”

“ _Romantic_ ,” Albert mumbled in Race’s ear.

“No, _embarrassing_ ,” he mumbled back as the fiddle music started.

A crowd formed around them. That was expected of course, after all, it wasn’t every day you see two ridiculously dressed grown men spinning each other around in the middle of a bar to turn-of-the-century dance music. Race didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed the attention, and in Spot’s case, it only added to the embarrassment.

“And spin!” he instructed.

“I hate your guts!” Spot replied.

“Channel that passion into the dance!”

Things were getting really good when Race’s phone rang from his pocket. “Romeo!” He yelled to his friend in the crowd. “Tag in! Spot, keep spinning.”

“What? Higgins!”

Race made his way to a quiet corner of the bar, where he answered his phone.

"Hello?"

“Higgins.” Jacobs greeted.

“Captain! Hey!”

“Higgins, one of our informants just called. We've been tracking a crew that lifts cargo out of LaGuardia. The C.I. knows where the trucks unload, so I need you to stake out the drop site.”

“Oh.” Race’s face dropped. “Sir, I’m actually right in the middle of this date, and I cannot reschedule. I have far, _far_ too many non-refundable deposits. I’m renting a tiger cub by the hour.”

He heard Jacobs sigh through the phone. “For what?”

“I don’t even know,” he confessed. “I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Well, this isn’t a negotiation, so go.”

“Alright. But I’m taking Conlon with me. As soon as we’re done, it’s back to the date!”

“Fine, just get over there,” Jacobs said before hanging up.

Race pocketed his phone and made his way back over to where Spot and Romeo were still dancing.

“Darling!” He yelled over the music. “Brief pause, duty calls!”

“Oh thank god!” Spot grabbed his hand and let himself be dragged by the taller man out of the bar.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m so happy to be out of that suit.” Spot and Race were now back in the latter's car, stationed near the cargo drop site. “It was weirdly hot.”

“Oh, yeah,” Race said, reaching for his binoculars. “That’s probably because it was a cotton and plastic blend. But not to worry! We’re gonna catch these guys, and get back to the worst date of your life.”

“No,” Spot said. “Nothing will ever be worse than the date I had with my aunt’s dentist.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“He tricked me into letting him examine my teeth and concluded that I couldn’t have dessert.” Spot laughed at the memory. “What about you, what was your worst date ever?”

“Oh my god.” Race ran a hand through his curly blond hair. “I think it’s got to be something like a fifty way tie. The last guy I went out with burst into tears when I told him when I told him I’m a Gemini.”

“Wow.”

“Hey, look over there,” Race said, pointing to a nearby building. “Someone left that door open. I bet there’s a better vantage point from the roof.”

“And I bet it doesn’t smell like old cheese.”

“Okay, that’s just hurtful. Shall we?”

“Yeah.” Spot was about to open the passenger door, but Race was already out of his driver's seat and opening the door for him.

"You didn't have to do that, Race. I can open a door."

"I know. But I'm your date." Race shrugged. "And I wanted to give you one last nice thing before we resume our horrible evening."

"Aww, you ruined it!"


	8. Chapter 8

“Man, I don’t know how Batman does it, it is _super_ scary up here,” Race said as he looked out over the city from their temporary rooftop stakeout setup. “Hey, can you grab the binoculars? They’re in my stakeout bag.”

“Your stakeout bag is ninety-eight percent nuts.” Spot pulled out a bag of peanuts and tossed it to Race.

“I get snacky. Besides,” the blond said as he tore into the bag. “These things are super healthy. They’re zero percent fat.”

“Race, that’s not true at all! It’s actually the opposite.”

“ _Really_? That nut vendor lied to me!”

Spot looked through the binoculars, but he wasn’t focusing on the drop site. “I think a pigeon just flew out of your car,” he said.

“Yeah.” Race nodded. “The windows don’t exactly roll up.”

“That car’s a piece of crap, why do you love it so much?”

Race sighed. “You really want to know?”

The other man nodded.

“I was two days out of The Academy, super nervous, I saw this guy run out of a bodega clutching a bunch of cash. So, I pursued him on foot for eleven blocks. Finally, I catch him, cuff him, throw him up against _that_ car.” Race paused and pointed to the car in question. “Turned out there was a For Sale sign in the window, and, it being the best day of my life, I bought it… thus began the debt!”

“ _Crushing_ debt.”

Race smiled. “You do know me.”

“Hey.” Spot nudged his shoulder. “Nut?”

“Only if you throw it!”

“Ready?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Spot threw it, and Race caught it in his mouth.

“Nice!”

“Here.” Race took out another peanut. “You try. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Race threw it, and Spot missed by a long shot. They both burst out laughing.

“Spottie, what are you doing?” Race said, through his laughter. “Are you trying to catch it in your nose?”

“No, I got it! I got it, I got it.”

Race’s phone started ringing. “I gotta take this, it’s Jacobs. Keep practicing!” He got up and walked over to the other side of the roof. “Hey, Captain.”

“Good news, Higgins. I found someone from the night shift to relieve you on your stakeout. You can get back to your date.”

“Ooh.” Race checked his watch. “We can still make Times Square.” But then he glanced back over at Spot, who was still trying and failing to catch a peanut in his mouth, and something in him changed. “Actually Captain, hold off on the relief team, we’re already here. Plus, I’m curious to see what happens.

“Okay. It’s your call.”

“Alright. Bye.”

Race hung up the phone and walked back to where they were sitting.

“What did Jacobs want?” Spot asked.

“Just checking in. How you doing? Any progress?”

“Yep. Watch.” Spot pulled out a handful of peanuts and threw them all up in the air. He opened his mouth and waited for some to fall in. “The key is volume!”

Race grinned. “I see that.”

The two detectives sat in silence for a while, occasionally throwing a peanut for the other to catch, some with more success than others.

“So, be honest,” Race said, breaking the silence. “If you’d won the bet, were you really gonna destroy my car?”

“No. I was gonna drive it.” Spot grinned. “So I could learn _stick_.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would. I would have been like _errrrrrrrrrrrrrr_ ,” he said as he mimed changing gears.

“No! No!” Suddenly, Race noticed a big truck on the street below them. “Hey! There’s our guys!”

They watched closely from their rooftop as the truck backed up.

“What’s the play here?” Spot asked.

“Just follow my lead.” Race held his hand out. “Give me the ring.” Spot pulled out the box that had been thrown at him earlier, and pressed it into his hand. “Now give me some nuts."

"Huh?"

"I’m snacky.”


	9. Chapter 9

As it turned out, some undercover situations can be more awkward than others.

“Alright, _fine_ , darling. I’ll ask him. Will that make you happy?” Race yelled at Spot as the two of them approached the criminals unloading the trucks. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Uh, we’re kind of busy here?” one of the men replied.

“Yeah, my boyfriend here thinks we're lost.”

“No,” Spot said, playing along and bracing himself for whatever fake name Race was going to come up with for him. “I _know_ we’re lost. I _think_ he's an idiot!”

“ _Idiot?_ You wanna know why we’re out here in the middle of the night… _Owen_?” He pulled out his one-dollar ring. “I was gonna propose to you! On the Brooklyn Bridge, where we met!”

“ _Brooklyn_ Bridge? We met on the _Manhattan_ Bridge!”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter! Because this is over! Say goodbye to the ring and everything it represents!” Race threw the ring into the darkness as Spot gasped.

“You son of a bitch!” he yelled.

“Hey, hey!” the criminal said. “Stop yelling!”

“Hey,” Race said sternly. “No one talks to Owen like that! And you know what else? On the ground! NYPD!” Race and Spot both pulled out their guns and the two criminals were on the ground.

“NYPD!” Spot yelled. “You’re under arrest!”

“Nice work,” Race said.

“You too.”

“You know,” the man on the ground said. “I’m sad y’all are arresting us, but I gotta say, I’m glad you’re back together.”

All Race and Spot could do was smile awkwardly as they cuffed the guys and dragged them back to Race’s car.

"So, I guess the date is over?" Spot asked as Race drove them back to the precinct. He checked his watch, which told him it was well past midnight.

"Yeah. Was it everything you hoped for?"

"Oh yeah. I've definitely spent my life dreaming for a tall man in khaki shorts to spin me around a bar."

Race laughed. "What about me teaching you how to catch nuts in your mouth?"

"I have to say that was the highlight."

"Really." Race glanced at him. "All I'm gonna say is that you missed out on a lovely serenade from a youth choir at Times Square."

"I'm glad I did. I'm also glad to have missed out on getting food poisoning from that seafood restaurant, even if the alternative was a dinner of stakeout bag peanuts."

They both laughed, and drove the rest of the way to the precinct in comfortable silence.

Despite it being the result of a bet and intended to embarrass him which then had to be cut short for a stakeout and awkward impromptu undercover mission, Spot still though it was a pretty good date.


	10. Epilogue

“Excellent job on the stakeout last night, Conlon,” Captain Plumber said to Spot the next morning. “I’m glad to see you and Higgins still work well together, despite that ridiculous bet.”

“Thanks, Captain. Me too.”

“And Captain Jacobs appreciates your turning down the relief team. I’m not sure they could have made that bust.”

“Yeah. Right," he said, confused because no one had said anything to him about a relief team. "The relief team.”

Spot smiled and walked out of Plumber’s office, only to see Detective Higgins crashing the nine-nine’s bullpen yet again.

“Hey,” Spot said, taking a seat at his desk. “Sorry you lost so much money last night. I guess you can add it to your list of bad dates.”

“Nah.” Race shrugged. “It still goes on the good date list. You know, because we caught the bad guys.”

“That’s very mature of you.”

“Well, I am a very mature man.”

Their conversation was interrupted when a delivery man walked up to Spot’s desk.

“Package for Sean Conlon?” he said.

“That’s me,” Spot said, looking up.

The man continued. “Special delivery from Antony Higgins to say _Thanks for last night_.” The second the delivery man pulled a large radio out of his cardboard box, Race started panicking.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “I forgot to cancel!”

“Cancel what?”

The delivery man pressed play before spinning Spot around in his chair.

“Oh,” was all Spot managed to say.

“Sir?” Race tried to get the man’s attention, but to no avail. “Sir, you don’t have to—” The man took his hat off and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Okay, I think that’s—” Spot tried to get up, but was unable to get past the now-shirtless stripper who was standing in front of him. “Okay, alright, so…” He was thinking it wouldn’t be that bad until the stripper ripped off his pants to reveal tiger striped boxers. The entire office was staring at them now. “Okay, no, no, no…” Spot wished this whole thing would just _end already_.

“Alright.” Race placed himself in front of the stripper, who was now dancing provocatively. “Stepping in, stepping in! I’ll take this bullet for you, Spottie.”


End file.
